Not the Keeper
by SnerkyOne
Summary: Mary thanks Marshall for being there... Set at the end of 'Who's Bugging Mary'


**Not the Keeper:**

She stared at the disabled bug, feeling completely at peace for the first time in a very long time. She'd been holding on to her father – to the _idea_ of her father – for so long, never realizing how he was holding her back, how he was keeping her from _really_ living her life. Well, no more; she was free now...

After tossing the bug into the recycling bin, she headed towards her bedroom but stopped short of going in. After only the briefest of hesitations, she made her way back to the living room, only stopping to take a blanket out of the hall closet. Snatching her phone off the table, she settled onto the couch and hit speed dial.

"Hey Mare, what's up?" her partner asked casually, as if her calling him in the middle of the night was a perfectly normal thing to do. Which, come to think of it, kind of was for them...

"Nothing," she quipped, "I just thought I'd check to see if you were asleep."

"Very funny. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied distractedly as she tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy couch.

"You sure?"

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the fear that he'd pushed her too far today. She could hardly blame him for fearing the worst; after all, he'd seen the way she reacted when people tried to force her to deal with things – with _feelings_ – she really didn't want to deal with.

"I'm fine, Marshall," she confirmed. "_We're_ fine."

"Okay," he said, the relief in his voice unmistakable.

Frowning, she wondered how often her partner felt like he couldn't talk to her for fear she'd turn on him. She'd have to try and work on that. He certainly deserved better from her...

"So, what's up, then? Or is it that you just couldn't bear another minute without hearing my voice?" he teased, chuckling softly.

"That's right, buddy... I just can't get enough of your voice," she smirked, delighted to see he'd regained his footing. "Listen, I just wanted to... thank you... for everything you've done today."

"No thanks needed," he replied. "That's what partners are for."

"I'm serious, Marshall. I know I was a bitch to pretty much everyone, and yet you... you were there for me, even when I tried to push you away... and I..." she trailed off, not sure how to continue. "You deserve better than what you've been getting from me lately..."

"It's okay--"

"No, it's really _not_ okay..." She fell silent, trying to figure out the best way to make him understand. "I heard what you said today, about Brandi & Jinx, and how I enable them. I will try to let go, to let them suffer the consequences of their own actions. But _you_ have to do the same thing. You have to let _me_ go, to let _me_ suffer the consequences of my own actions..." She paused again, trying to gauge if she was getting through to him. "You can't be my keeper anymore, Marshall," she added quietly. "I have to learn to clean up my own messes..."

She waited for his answer, trying not to get paranoid when he still hadn't answered after 30 seconds. "Okay," he finally said just as she was starting to _really_ freak out, "You can dig yourself out of your own messes. Better bring a shovel, though," he added, "because you can _seriously_ pile it on!"

"Funny," she said sarcastically.

"I know," he quipped. "Part of my considerable charm," he reminded her, laughing.

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled as she shifted her hips in an effort to get comfortable, only to be poked yet once again by the stupid couch. "Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with this couch?" she whined as she unsuccessfully tried to beat an uncooperative cushion into submission.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, obviously confused. "It's late. Or early, actually."

"I-- Never mind, I'm just... not." She trailed off, not wanting to go into _why_ she wasn't in bed. "Anyway, getting back to the couch... What the hell? I sit on this thing on all that time; _you_ sit on this thing all the time too. So why does it suddenly feel like all the cushions have been stuffed with rocks?"

"That's because you normally use _me_ as an oversize pillow to get comfortable."

"Oh... Well, that doesn't do me a whole lot of good just now," she grumbled, "does it?"

"You want me to come over?"

"Yes," she answered before she really had a chance to think about it. "Probably not such a good idea, though," she added, once her brain caught up to her mouth and reminded her she already had a house guest.

"Too many people around?"

"Something like that," she admitted, voice tinged with regret.

"Want me to tell you which cushions to avoid?" he asked, seemingly non-plussed.

"Please!" she begged, thankful he didn't press the subject. She wasn't sure why she felt uncomfortable telling Marshall that Raph was spending the night. Not like her partner thought she was celibate or anything...

"The trick is not to fight the lumps, but to work with them," he explained, giving her detailed instructions on what to do.

"Thanks," she said a few minutes later once she'd managed to find a comfortable position. Well, a comfortable-ish position, where nothing was poking her where it wasn't supposed to, at any rate...

Her partner then went on to give her a brief history of the couch, including the different available types (the divan, the fainting couch, the chaise longue, the canapé, the futon, and the ottoman), as well as the etymological origin of the word (from the Turkish word 'sofa', first used circa 1625 to mean a _raised section of a floor, covered with carpets and cushions_).

While she really couldn't care less about the origins of the couch – whether physical or linguistic - she let him ramble on, knowing it made him happy.

She closed her eyes, sighing contentedly as she drifted off to sleep...

Brandi padded into the living room a few hours later, looking for her sister. She'd peeped into her bedroom, only to find Raph sleeping there alone.

She caught sight of her, asleep on the couch, cell phone propped up against her head. Frowning, she bent down to pick up the phone, noticing it was still connected to another party.

To Marshall, according to the caller ID.

She was about to end the call, thinking it was some sort of phone company snafu, when she heard soft snoring from the other end. Smiling softly, she put the phone back, careful not to break the connection, then quietly made her way back to her own bedroom...


End file.
